


her plan went wrong

by humansandotherpeople



Series: Gem and Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, F/F, Reichenbach Fix-It, Rule 63, bickerflirting, spoilers: nobody dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humansandotherpeople/pseuds/humansandotherpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The roof scene plays out differently, and Sherlock and Gem have some more time to talk to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	her plan went wrong

Gem didn’t seem to be quite sure what to do with her right hand, her weak hand. (If there was anything weak about Gem. _Changability_ , Sherlock reminded herself, that was the point, to exploit her self-proclaimed weakness and change her mind.) She was about to pat Sherlock’s shoulder, maybe even hug her, then she dropped the hand in a way that made Sherlock think, for a moment, that she was going to stroke her stomach with the backs of her fingers.

She didn’t. It took Sherlock a moment (and she probably didn’t have moments to lose, damn it) to realise what the gesture had become: An offer of a handshake. Or was she accepting the one Sherlock had offered earlier? This was not quite hell yet, surely. Whichever it was, skin contact definitely went in the direction she had wanted this to go.

Sherlock took Gem’s hand. It was _interesting,_ feeling her. She was shivering just slightly, digging her fingertips into the back of Sherlock’s hand, all the while almost stroking the space between Sherlock’s first and second metacarpals with tiny movements of her thumb. And thanking her, having dropped her facade, doubtlessly in order to show another facade.

And then her grip tightened, holding Sherlock’s hand in place purposefully, and she said “as long as I’m alive”, looking her into the eyes, and Sherlock knew what was coming.

She wouldn’t get her hand free in time. Gem wouldn’t listen if she shouted at her now. She felt overwhelmingly helpless, too slow.

But then she stopped thinking and threw herself at the left side of Gem’s body, sending them toppling to the floor in an undignified heap of genius. Gem hadn’t let go of the gun, but of Sherlock’s hand, and her surprised squeal turned into a pained hiss as Sherlock slammed her wrist onto the concrete repeatedly in an effort to make her drop the weapon.

"Let go, Gem. I _will_ break your fingers if you don’t.”

"What makes you think I won’t like that?" Gem had stopped struggling, now, with her right arm still trapped between their bodies and the left outstretched above her head. Sherlock wasn’t surprised. After all, there had been pointers that Gem enjoyed being manhandled. Two pointers. Two was plenty.

"Half a minute ago you’d rather have shot yourself than continued flirting with me. What." She pressed Gem’s hand to the ground, trapping her knuckles between the gun and the concrete, always taking care to have the muzzle point away from them. "Ever." She increased the pressure. "Happened." She noted with some satisfaction that Gem had visible trouble keeping her index finger on the trigger by now. "To change that." God, Gem was stubborn. The first bone would give any second, and she was still holding on, gritting her teeth. "My dear." There would be a crack and a scream – she wondered how loud – any. Moment. Now.

Instead, Gem’s fingers relaxed. “How do you get the idea I was going to off myself”, she asked, looking to the side, tone flat. “Might have -“

"Killed me?" Sherlock chuckled darkly. "I don’t think so. Threatened me? You have your biggest threat already in place, remember?" She studied the gun, holding Gem’s arm down with her elbow. Loaded. Safety off. So Gem had been for real. She considered keeping the gun, then uncocked it and tossed it to the side. "Oh, by the way, how much time do they have?"

"Two minutes." Gem murmured. She still wasn’t looking at Sherlock, having closed her eyes and positively nuzzling her cheek into the concrete as if it was a pillow.

"You know, the decent thing to do would be to let them go, out of gratitude. I did save your life. Or do you really want me to carry out my brilliant plan that much?"

"Your brilliant plan to seduce me into calling off my snipers? That you came up with a minute before you would’ve jumped? You’re not as irresistible as you think, darling", she sang, then her voice went flat again, “‘specially not with one and a half minutes to work out what you didn’t in the last thirty-six years." One eye opened, just a bit, glinting at Sherlock. "Pathetic." It closed again. She shook her head slowly, exhaustedly, and, very quietly, said: "Not enough to stay alive for."

"No, my brilliant plan involving jumping and not dying. That I crafted and assured would work in the exact time you gave me. Which you don’t let yourself believe that I’m capable of. But I am. You know that I am. That’s why you’re obsessed with me in the first place." The last two sentences Sherlock very nearly whispered into Gem’s ear.

"You’re lying", mumbled Gem despondently.

"You’re lying to yourself. You’re underestimating me. You nearly _died_ because you were underestimating me. I advise you against it.”

"Go on then, get off me and jump. Run, actually, fourty seconds now."

"I’d much rather stay and talk to you. You aren’t supposed to leave suicidals to themselves on danger days. If you call your men off. If not, well, I might jump after all. And make sure that I miss the laundry truck, and leave you without intelligent company for the rest of your days, since my sister certainly won’t play with you."

"Fine!", Gem spat. "Give me my arm back."

Sherlock let go of the arm instantly – after all, there wasn’t much time left. Then she watched as Gem produced her phone with as much of a flourish as she could manage, pinned under the detective as she was, and tapped the phone’s screen a few times, hardly looking at it. She let her head fall back on the floor just slightly too fast after that, Sherlock heard the thud, that must have hurt.

"Now will you let me get up?"

"I’m comfortable. Aren’t you?" Sherlock plucked the phone out of Gem’s hand – no fight this time – and tried to trace back what her order had actually consisted of, but she obviously went about it the wrong way: The phone turned itself off very quickly and decisively.

"Could be better. Not in the mood, Sherly de- what _are_ you doing?!”

"Oh, don’t act so alarmed. It’s not like you can’t tell." She was fleecing Gem and that was turning out similarly frustrating as searching her phone. She wanted to call all of it paranoid, but seeing that it was entirely justified… well, professionally paranoid would have to do, then.

"Oh _right._ When I say I’m not in the mood it’s not an invitation to try and prove me wrong, if I have to spell it -” rather in contradiction to her words, Sherlock’s hand in her trouser pocket made her wiggle in a manner that didn’t seem uncomfortable at all, and her voice went soft around the last few words, “out for you.”

Sherlock opted for ignoring Gem in favour of the few deductions she could make from the items she had found on her body.

"No wallet, no keys. You have people to handle the mundane things in life. What a surprise. You also have a small fortune in cash sewed into your coat and jacket -"

"Small fortune?!", Gem giggled.

"A _small fortune_ in different currencies, for emergencies, I imagine. Let’s move on. You turned off the microphone at your neck. Didn’t want your people listening in so they couldn’t stop you offing yourself. … or bonding with the enemy, I suppose.

You brought _cigarettes_. And a _lighter_ , too. _None_ of this is telling me whether you actually _did_ let them live!” Sherlock’s frustration showed in her voice now.

"Oh you poor thing, you’re going to have to _call_ them!”, snarled Gem, then went on in a much lower voice, to herself: “Literally poor. A small fortune, seriously.”, while Sherlock was already fumbling for her own phone. “Oh! And your pet doctor should be on her way here. Maybe you’ll see her in the streets if you get up. Or, I dunno, we could stay like this until she finds us. Maybe make out a bit so her little mind doesn’t have to do all the work by itself. You do the explaining.”

Sherlock smiled involuntarily. Gem had almost succeded in making that sentence about making out sound like another throwaway line, but her heartbeat and the nuances in her breathing told her, quite obviously from this close, that she was actually nervous about saying that. Gemma Moriarty, nervous about… not even about kissing, about talking about kissing!

She lowered her phone and looked at Gem: Hairline and forehead and eyebrows and eyelashes and irises and pupils and nose and lines and lips (and a brief glimps of tongue when she wet them), chin, neck…

She kissed Gem before she got up in a fluid movement, leaving her momentarily speechless on the floor. Then she calmly picked up the tiny microphone, Gem’s phone, the gun.

She had already reached the ledge, when Gem, having sat up and inspecting her knuckles, called after her: “You’re similar in so many ways, you and your sister.”

"Mycroft kissed you?", Sherlock replied over her shoulder.

"No. Pity though, isn’t it?" A grin. "Only left me bruised and bleeding. Found your doctor yet?"

"No. …Yes! YES! She’s alive!"

"Of course she is! I trusted you and you. Didn’t. Trust. Me! Back! I’m…" She cocked her head. "I should be more disappointed, really."

"If you say so, dear. Hold up a second, I have to make a call… or two", she added absently as she flicked through her contacts and saw Mickey’s name there.

Joan picked up instantly.

"Sherlock, what..?"

"Her plan went wrong. I stopped her. She got away."

"Where are you? Are you safe?"

"On the roof." She raised a hand awkwardly in a half-wave. "See me? I believe I’m safe for now, yes. At least from Gem. Moriarty. I still need to clear my name. My plan did not go as predicted either. Please tell nobody where I am."

"Yes, fine, I – Sherlock, why are you calling me. You always text."

"It’s urgent. I need you to do something for me."

"What is it this time?", Joan asked, now finally more annoyed than worried.

"Please call Mr. Hudson and Lestrade. Any excuse will do. Text me if anything is wrong."

“ _Everything_ is wrong right now!”

"If anything is wrong _with them._ Please.”

"I don’t see how – okay. I’ll do it. Is there anything else?"

"No- yes. Actually. I’m very grateful to you, Joan. Always."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. Goodbye, Joan."

"… Bye."

Sherlock watched Joan turn around, then she texted Mickey instead of calling him:

Not quite all-clear, but nearly. Stand by for ½ hour just in case. I don’t believe it will be necessary after all.

-S

Joan down on the street was on the phone with either Mr. Hudson or DI Lestrade. Her body language didn’t betray upset, so Sherlock felt she could finally turn her attention back to Gemma, who was still sitting in the spot where she had left her, now playing with the lighter. Sherlock strolled over and sat down next to her.

"Had fun back here?", she asked.

"Yes, actually", said Gem, grinning provocatively. “‘I need you to do something for me.’ Priceless. So _you_.”

 _Flick._ Her dark eyes shone with the orange of the small flame.

Rather than respond to Gem’s mocking, Sherlock picked up the packet of cigarettes from between them and said: “So you had a plan B… or F, or M, as the case may be, that involved offering me a smoke.”

"You don’t know that they weren’t for me."

"I _know_ you don’t smoke. Come on, who do you think I am?”

"Might have started today. Nice slow way to end it. Come on, take one already."

It was curious, really: Sherlock knew, had she remained standing, she would have wanted to kick Gemma. As they were now, she had, for once, more of an urge to put an arm around her shoulders than to hurt her. And a cigarette would be good, actually. She hadn’t had a patch in hours and those paled in comparison to a real smoke anyway. She gave in and took one out of the package and between her lips. It hadn’t been much of a fight.

Gem lit the cigarette without needing further prompting, and for a few drags, Sherlock was content.

Gem was the one to break the silence. “You didn’t really think I was talking about you, from a high building, when I told you about the fall, did you?”

"Still underestimating me, Gem?" She blew smoke in her face, watched her squint and grimace.

A moment passed before she admitted: “I didn’t get it right away. I thought at first that you had meant you would make me, well, fall for you.”

"Talk about underestimating, darling, I was well aware that you’d fallen as far in _that_ direction as you’re going to by that time.”

"I’d say there were still a few inches left, then." She tried to make herself more comfortable on the hard floor and found herself sitting closer to Gem afterward. How fitting.

"Are you trying to say there aren’t now?"

"Well, you might yet surprise me again. By now I’m almost expecting you to."

"Oooooooh, was that a compliment? From Sherlock Holmes? I’ll have to paint a little heart into my diary like Mickey does…" She stared into the distance as she trailed off.

"And it’ll be the last little heart if you keep talking about him like that."

Gem’s intense focus snapped back onto Sherlock’s face instantly. “Makes me wonder, do you even want the gift I promised you?”

"The fall of your empire, all for myself? The entirety of the world’s most effective criminal network to unravel? Of course I want it, Gemma. Does that mean I have to keep the compliments coming? Your lips felt good." Gem had wanted to say something, but that shut her up for the moment and Sherlock continued: "But! It’s as much for you as it is for me, isn’t it? You’re on top of the world and you hate it there." She tossed away the cigarette butt and fell silent, allowing Gemma to speak.

When she did, she picked her words carefully. “I used to have competition, you know? Not exactly worthy enemies, don’t be jealous. But they did keep me busy. Know what they did after the verdict? Two straight up killed themselves. The rest called whoever they knew in my network and asked to be allowed to work for me. Can you imagine? They didn’t even want to form “alliances”” Gem made a point of putting the word in air quotes. “Just… threw themselves at my feet where they really always had been, I just never made the effort to show them. Sherlock…”

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure whether that sounded more like “Sherlock, help me” or “Sherlock, give me my gun back”, or whether the two were any different in Gem’s mind, but she took it as an invitation to wrap her arms around the smaller woman, half expecting her to lash out. She didn’t, instead opting for shuffling closer and nuzzling her face into her neck, murmuring: “You’re aware this isn’t proper archnemesis behaviour, right? I should give you a crash course.” Then, relaxing against her body: “Your sister should give us both a crash course…”

"What if this is how I bring you down? And I will bring you down, I promise", Sherlock said quietly, combing Gems hair back into a semblance of order with her fingers, "holding you and kissing you until word gets out that Sherlock Holmes has made you soft, and they won’t be afraid of you anymore, but you’ll keep coming back for more…"

"Good luck trying, but in my experience they stay scared as long as you keep killing people, no matter how cuddly you are in your free time."

"Unless I really do soften you…"

"Yeah, sure." Gem laughed into her shoulder.

"Of course I do not actually have a plan how to take you down yet, and if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. I only know taking down your net without you in the middle of it would be…" She stared into the far distance, not taking in anything at all, the hand in Gem’s hair stalling. "Trite. Hardly deserving of the name "gift" anymore."

As Sherlock resumed petting Gem’s hair, she felt her lips moving against her neck. Her deducing mind extrapolated words out of the barely noticable movement automatically: “love you too”? Well, she wouldn’t say that, or rather, she would, out loud, in a mocking tone, in front of an audience. Not like this. It must have been a mistake.

Sherlock did make mistakes sometimes, after all.


End file.
